Mole Negro

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Today is the first day that I took less than 77 photos. Oddly, without setting out to, that seems to be the number I've taken daily. Its been a quiet studio day, that's why, with a walk around a new section of town not far from here. Yesterday we re-explored the indoor market, then some of the folkcraft places. Always starting with a tour of the zocalo. What incredible hand work goes into these rugs and embroidery. All naturel dye. Wool, silk or cotton. The most elegantly shaped pots, glazed and unglazed. Stopped at a mole and cheese stand, and got a little of both. One Oaxacan cheese is made as a long rope. You see the vendors balling it up, like yarn, into whatever size you want. The mole they had, a thick putty with as many as 38 different ingredients, was negro, rojo, or coloradito. We will have to keep looking for Pepian, Verde, Amarillo, and isn't there one more? Anyway, I got the negro. And at last I have let loose and started buying skulls, too: sugar, ceramic, papier mache, wood, plastic. They are everywhere now, and altars are being built, too. On the walk back we stopped to meet someone I had contacts with. She runs a yoga/meditation center. A friendly connection who discribed how tired the Oaxaquenos are of the constant demonstrations and unrest. Schools are still closed. Children are at home. Many find their beautiful city ugly and defaced with all the graffiti. Not only are the poor getting poorer but many businesses are having to close their doors for lack of patronage. People are afraid at night. Most are just trying to keep going as best they can. There are very few tourists, and many are unaware of the circumstances here before arriving. It must be quite a shock to say the least.
Once home, the usual half hour collapse, then on to the mole. It felt all the more forbidden when I had to untie (with patience) then hack through (enough already) no less than seven, seperately knotted, plastic bags. A "Danger, Will Robinson! Danger!" moment. This stuff is black as ink, and oily. It tastes like a Marquez paragaph, just shy of a short story. Intense, with a distinct flow of flavors: chocolate, of course, but not overpowering, seeds and spices richly roasted or fried then ground, all that ends in a fireworks explotion of chili heat, then lingers. Really lingers. As the taste begins to subside, you can only eat more. First we began with small pea sized bits, graduating almost instantly to golf-ball sized wads. Eyes rolling back, intoxicated. Tim blurted out, "What a shame to put this on anything!". Indeed hardcore, but we bought a chicken anyway.
In the planning is a trip to Teotitlan del Valle, the town of weavers, maybe with an overnight, and Monte Alban, the Zapotec ruins. But not tomorrow. Word is circulating that the entire city may literally shut down with the biggest APPO demonstration yet. More barricades and blocked circulation. Even if we could get out, I wouldn't. I'll head to the zocalo. I must.

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Photos

Local Color
At some point I will have to write more about color here.

Some graffiti...
painted over graffiti, over graffiti.... I happen to like it. Another form is to make a stencil cut-out, sometimes quite intricate, and spray it. Often elaborate images and texts.

Comments

[Michael]

Mole
Yummm!! If possible, bring home some for us. Situation sounds quite sad for the people in Oaxaca. Hope there is some decent resolution.

[Pamela]

the color!!
I'm loving the photos. Maybe you'd make some for framing when you get home?? I especially liked the blue and gold wall you've named "local color." Be safe, keep writing so we know.